Love, Carry My Bags

by Everett, C. R.

  Megan has it all together and her life on track. She’s the ultimate in calm, cool, and collected combined with just the right amount of anxiety to make her a perfect human being. I wish you could meet each other someday. You have a lot in common—you both love me! Ha ha ha. So anyway, I showed her around Rockford, and Harvard where we used to live and where we used to walk to school together. It’s weird going back and not living there anymore.

  This will have to do for now. Can’t wait until you get home.

  Love you,

  Camryn

  * * *

  Dear Camryn,

  I will be home in less than two weeks! I hope you get this letter before then. I’ll take you out to dinner, your choice. I get paid right before I leave, so I will have money. Do you like the postcard? It is a picture of a B-52 bomber. They have a lot of those here. They used to run an ungodly number of sorties out of here during Vietnam. It’s real quiet now compared to then from what I understand. Anyway, when I’m home, I’m not leaving your side. (Except to use the bathroom, ha ha ha.) We can go to Milk Day together.

  Talk to you soon—in person! Yeah!

  Lots of Love, Reese

  Reese’s mother picked him up at the airport Friday night. I drove to his place after work and gave him my own warm homecoming.

  “Look, there’s Kurt.” Sitting curbside, Reese yelled out, laughing at Kurt in his band uniform, feathered topper and all. This was Kurt’s last year marching with the high school band in the Milk Day parade. Kurt waved his drumstick high in surprised acknowledgement when he saw us spectating together. Kurt didn’t know Reese was coming home. “Next year, I won’t know anybody in the band,” Reese said.

  A year or two out of school seemed a great distance.

  * * *

  “Sarah and John are still on their honeymoon, so we can’t get together with them. They went to Wisconsin Dells,” I said. “The only people I could get a hold of were Eric and Kurt. They said they’d meet us for bowling later.”

  “Eric?” Reese questioned, distaste in his voice.

  “I know, I know, but I promised Kate I’d be nice to him.” I explained, then added, “Kurt’s bringing his girlfriend.”

  We sat talking in Reese’s familiar kitchen, except it was more cleaned up, less cluttered.

  “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend,” Reese said, recovering from the shock.

  “He brought her to the wedding as his date . . . . You should keep in touch with him.”

  “I know,” Reese said, retying his shoe. “Sometimes I just don’t feel like writing.”

  “You write to me.”

  “Well, you’re different,” Reese said, making me feel special.

  I looked around the kitchen, dark and eerily quiet, not quite as inviting as it used to be. A sparrow’s chirp filtered through the screen window, drawing me to look out. Sunbeams struck each blade of grass. The lawn glowed bright green.

  “Reese,” I said hesitantly, “at Sarah’s wedding, I overheard John’s mother and Mrs. Stone. I’m sure they didn’t know I was around the corner.”

  Reese turned off the little TV on the counter, listened.

  “Mrs. Stone said she had been ashamed, and was glad John’s parents had joined them in ‘leaving the past behind’.”

  “So what does that mean?”

  “She also said she was proud of John for driving ‘that rat out of town.’ This whole conversation is going on while they’re making punch for the wedding,” I said, building up to the kicker. “Kate’s dad left because John turned him in, told Sarah’s dad. Kate’s father killed Kurt’s calf.”

  “I thought Eric’s grandfather . . .”

  “Nope. He knew about it though,” I said, glad to dump my information load, too much for a teenager to handle all by herself.

  “They were all KKK.” Reese shuddered, reality he already suspected hitting home.

  I nodded. “The last of them. Passed down from father to son until some of them got smart.”

  “I used to spend the night at the Stone’s all the time. I thought they were good people.”

  “My dad says that even good people sometimes lose their way.”

  Reese held his lips in a thin, grim line. “Who knows?”

  “Most of the parents, not mine, probably not yours. I’m not sure who else . . . John.”

  “Kate . . . Sarah . . . Kurt?”

  “Nope. No one we can talk to. Just us,” I said, suddenly feeling half-bad for dumping on him.

  “Eric?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. He’s definitely got an attitude.”

  I rubbed Reese’s shoulders, then kissed him on the cheek.

  “Ready for the carnival?” I asked, moving on, eager to re-live the great time we had two years prior, goofing around on rides, taking in the atmosphere. Eager to leave the funky vibes setting in.

  “Let’s go.” Reese took my hand.

  I looked over the crowd as we stood in the Tilt-a-Whirl line. “You know anyone?” I asked Reese.

  “No.” He looked around some more just to be sure. There was no euphoria of just having wrapped up a senior year, our classmates long gone. We were on our own. The Milk Day magic as we had known it, faded into nonexistence.

  “Hi, Mr. Patterson,” I said, happily greeting my old chemistry teacher who stood in line for roasted corn on the cob. We had been close when I was in high school. I was almost a teacher’s pet, but not in a way that made other kids hate me.

  “Hi . . .” Mr. Patterson said awkwardly. Apparent he had misplaced my name, and almost my face, he stammered, “Ca . . . Cam . . . Camryn. Sorry. I knew I’d remember.”

  I regretted engaging him in conversation, certain he had forgotten me the day he filled out my last report card; we exchanged forced, superficial chitchat. Reese put his arm around my shoulder, sensing my feelings of no longer being in place, but rather, out of place and left behind.

  * * *

  Mr. Dahlgren corralled us when we got home. “Reese,” he called.

  “Sir.”

  “I need you to come in here,” Mr. Dahlgren said, his voice serious. Reese entered the living room, I followed. Reese’s father sat hunched over, elbows on his knees, hands in his salt and pepper hair, which was more salt than pepper. “Sit down,” he said, motioning for us to park ourselves on the loveseat. “You gotta listen to this.” Mr. Dahlgren reached for a record album.

  “Oh my god,” Reese said with a semi-disgusted chuckle, knowing what was to come. I sat patiently, indulging my sure to be future father-in-law. Soon, Ray Stevens’ “The Streak” was zipping through the speakers. Reese looked at me and shrugged his shoulders.

  Mr. Dahlgren could be humorous when he wanted to be.

  “Wasn’t that good?” Reese’s father said, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “He’s really talented.”

  We nodded agreement, smiles on our faces not because we overly enjoyed the selection, but because Mr. Dahlgren did.

  “Wanna listen to more?” he asked.

  “No, Dad. We need to go.”

  “Have fun,” he said, not meaning it, drawing the words out as only a man from the south could; if I didn’t know better, I would have thought Forrest Gump had spoken. Mr. Dahlgren’s dejected expression gave him away. He hoped we would not have more fun than hanging out with him, listening to Ray.

  I whispered to Reese, “Where’s your mom?”

  “Upstairs in her room.”

  “Can’t she come down and keep your dad company if he wants company so bad?” I asked, still in a whisper.

  “No.” Reese said no more. I dropped the subject, knowing I missed something.

  * * *

  Reese hurled his bowling ball at Mach 1. “Strike!” Reese called it. The pins exploded in the end zone. I thought Eric appeared to squirm, but couldn’t be sure. Eric held his hand up in the air. They high then low fived, Reese maintaining civility. “Yes!” Reese sat back down and I reclaimed my seat on his lap, his arms around me just below
my waist. Kurt and his girlfriend, Ashley—the same Ashley he’d had his eye on for years—munched nachos, having a good time for a newly dating couple. When she looked our way, I could tell she wished they were at a place in their courtship where she was sitting on Kurt’s lap too. It felt good not to be in her shoes, but my own. It felt good being secure.

  “You’ll do better next time,” Reese said to me after the game on our way to McDonald’s for ice cream. He kicked all of our butts, a strike or spare in every frame. I came in second to last place, beating Ashley by one. As a rule, I was lucky to break a hundred, but that night I wasn’t lucky. Victor, now manager, waited on us. I blushed with lingering unease. He pretended not to know us, like we were garden-variety customers. I wondered why I had ever wasted any energy on him. The thought evaporated when I turned back to my friends.

  Kurt led the way to a table. He and Ashley sat on one side of the booth. Eric, Reese, and I squished into the other bench, me in the middle.

  “Here comes the airplane,” I said, guiding at cruising altitude, a spoonful of hot fudge sundae toward Reese’s face. He took a clean bite, reloaded, then deadheaded return ice cream my way. Eric elbowed me hard, crashing me into Reese; my shuttle for Reese missed final approach, melting, down the side of his face on impact. The table burst into laughter.

  “You guys knock it off. You’re too cute,” Eric said, lacing the word cute with acid while Reese wiped off the ice cream before I had a chance to kiss it off seductively, employing my tongue, the way I had done in my mind a split-second earlier. Reese liked it. Made him hungry for more.

  “You want some?” I turned to Eric and offered him a bite, giggling.

  “No . . . gross.” We ignored Eric, feeding each other a few more bites, sneaking a kiss on the lips in between.

  “How long are you in town?” Kurt asked.

  “Just the weekend.”

  “I’m sure Camryn’s glad you’re back,” Kurt said.

  “That’s the understatement of the century,” I blurted out, giving Reese’s thigh a squeeze. Reese laughed, appreciating my unchecked bluntness.

  “Well, I’m sure you kids want to be alone.” Kurt rose from the table, reaching for Ashley’s hand to help her up.

  “Take me with you. These two are going to make me puke,” Eric teased. He shook Reese’s hand. “Good seeing you again, man.”

  “You too,” Reese said, expediting the departure.

  Kurt, more touchy feely, gave Reese a bear hug.

  “Good to see you again. Keep in touch,” Kurt said.

  The threesome left us unchaperoned. We took the long way home, passing by our friends’ homes, or at least where they used to live. So many had left town.

  “It’s not the same,” Reese said, speaking what I felt.

  We became silent, apprehensively knowing we needed to find a new sense of place, a new normal.

  * * *

  “You don’t need to take me to a fancy dinner,” I said to Reese the afternoon before he left for Virginia. “Save your money to come home again. I’d rather spend another day doing nothing with you than an hour in an expensive restaurant.”

  “You’re so awesome,” he said.

  We spent our final hours together walking the neighborhood, discussing our next visit. I had three part-time jobs lined up to pay for school and a plane ticket. I’d fly to see him after summer school. He’d take me to the family beach condo, finally getting his turn to invite a guest. Ryan had for years.

  We parted again, at the airport; the scene, again, torturous and tearful.

  * * *

  Summer school and work kept me occupied aside from counting down the days until I saw Reese again. Sarah, Kate, and Kurt rarely came around, each consumed with their own lives, Sarah already pregnant.

  I made a new friend that summer. Chris, from Public Speaking 101 sat in the chair behind me. After I extinguished his initial designs on me, explaining I was already spoken for and liked it that way, he became a close friend, a sounding board, someone to hang out with. I spoke with him as I spoke with my closest girlfriends. I became the confidante he turned to, blubbering over his own dating disasters.

  “Why don’t you date Chris?” Father asked one afternoon, concerned for some reason that Reese wouldn’t pan out. In my head, I sang bore-ing. Father thought Chris was the ideal suitor—basically level headed, clean cut, polite, had a steady job and future all lined up; he planned to work in the same company his father had and his father before him. All of that was true from a father’s perspective. From my perspective, there was no spark to ignite anything more than a warm friendship; being in all-consuming love with Reese, I was not even interested in trying to find kindling.

  When I left for summer vacation to visit Reese, Chris dropped me off at the airport.

  “If he’s as great as you say he is, why hasn’t he given you a ring?” Chris asked.

  “Patience, Grasshopper,” I said, looking at Chris, but wondering to myself why Reese hadn’t at least given me his high school class ring. “I’m in college, he’s in the Air Force, he doesn’t know where he’s going to school, we live in different states . . . I’m not worried about it.” I downplayed the concern, even in my own mind.

  “I don’t know,” Chris said, doubtfully. He pulled my suitcase out of the trunk, set it on the curb.

  “Thanks.” We looked at each other for a few seconds, like he was my disapproving father reluctantly allowing me to make my own mistakes. I hugged him goodbye. “I’ll call you when I get home.”

  * * *

  Reese’s parents had already driven to the condo on North Carolina’s outer banks. His mother drove to Langley, picked Reese up, then they both met me at the airport that evening.

  “You sit up front with Reese,” Mrs. Dahlgren insisted as we began to load into her Impala.

  “Are you sure?” I asked, used to giving the front seat to my elders. She was sure. Dusk quickly turned dark. The hypnotic lull of moonlit miles gliding beneath the wheels put me under.

  “I can’t stay awake,” I said, yawning, then laid my head in Reese’s lap as he drove, his leg a warm pillow. He stroked my hair while I listened to the engine hum and the radio’s soft music. Dashboard lights cast soft shadows as I closed my eyes, feeling the same comfort as a tuckered-out child, coddled by a kind and loving mother.

  Reese’s father greeted us at the beachfront condo as if we had returned from a mundane trip to the grocery store, and offered no help carrying anything in.

  “This is Reese’s grandmother.” Mr. Dahlgren motioned toward an elderly woman seated at a dinette table. Reese gave his paternal grandmother a warm hug. I did the same.

  “Hi, Grandma,” he said.

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, louder than usual, not knowing how well she could hear.

  “Reese has talked a lot about you,” she said. My face turned pale crimson. Mrs. Dahlgren showed us where to put our things. Reese got the pullout sofa. I shared the guest room with Grandma.

  “Don’t you two stay up all night,” Mrs. Dahlgren said as they disappeared into other rooms. Reese and I stared at each other a moment, happy to be left by ourselves.

  “Come out here,” Reese said excitedly. He led me through sliding glass doors to the deck facing the Atlantic. We stood under the moonlight listening to the rhythmic waves crash in and then trickle back out.

  “Your grandmother seems sweet.”

  “She is. I don’t know what happened to dad.”

  “He can’t be that bad.”

  “I don’t know,” Reese said, like he did know. We stood quiet, feeling the cool salt air, then made out like two lovers missing each other, because we were. I had trouble thinking of anything that could possibly be more romantic. We said our goodnights—I left him for Grandma’s room. Trying to get comfy on the futon, I heard the pullout bed creak as Reese crawled in. I wished I could have felt more of his touch on my skin. Sleep didn’t come easily.

  * * *

  Reese slept in
. I walked the shore at sunrise, daydreaming, my bare feet beating down on the hard, wet sand. The thought of the most important person in the world to me waiting at home, spurred me to turn around and go back to see if he was awake, and if necessary, wake him up. He was, with plans in place.

  Reese showed me the very dunes where Orville and Wilbur Wright made aviation history, an experience that sent goose bumps up my arms as I imagined what December 17, 1903 meant to me. It meant Reese and I could be together today, no matter how round about the concept. I thanked God for the Wright brothers.

  We spent the day dodging waves and floating on rafts. Sometimes we’d hold hands, riding the surf together, sometimes he’d piggyback me around in the water, and sometimes he’d carry me—a re-creation of times gone by, and in some ways, better. As the sun faded, we emerged from the sea. Reese rinsed off at the outdoor shower spigot, something new to me. I took a picture of him.

  “Clean up, we’re taking you two to dinner,” Mrs. Dahlgren instructed when we walked in, swimsuits dripping. Reese went to the right and I went to the left, then closed the doors. I started the shower running, stripped off my sand-filled suit in the tub. Reese knocked on the wall from inside of his bathroom. I knocked back, smiled, still amazed that the condo had two bathrooms side by side. I ran my hand down the wall, lovingly, at the source of the knock. It wouldn’t be far from the truth that we had showered together. A smile crossed my face again as I toweled off, the excellent feeling of clean hair and salt-free skin, invigorating.

  Warm and dry in clean clothes, I whispered to Reese, “Nice of you to shower with me.” He smiled and gave a little laugh. As he hugged me, everything about his body told me he wished it was true.

  “You kids ready?” Mr. Dahlgren barked, more like an order than a question. “Let’s go.” As he stormed out the door and headed to the car, little man syndrome entered my mind.

  * * *

  The beachfront restaurant, Taste of Kitty Hawk, had a nautical whaling theme, decorated in lighthouses and shades of blue. Our waitress seated us in a booth next to the window. Reese and I shared a bench, his parents across from us. We studied the menu. Pricey. Made me feel guilty just being there. I settled on a bowl of chowder.